


reeling through the midnight streets, and i’ve never felt more alone (it feels so scary getting old)

by ffslynch



Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, Growing Up, Kuroo Tetsurou is Bad at Feelings, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Mess, Light Angst, Multi, Pro Volleyball Player Kuroo Tetsurou, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27227854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffslynch/pseuds/ffslynch
Summary: Kuroo saw adult life through the rose-coloured lenses of alleged freedom, success and independency. Then he grows up.(Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 day 1 - Longing/‘When did it all change’)
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Yamaka Mika, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Yaku Morisuke, Kuroo Tetsurou/Yamaka Mika, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970500
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	reeling through the midnight streets, and i’ve never felt more alone (it feels so scary getting old)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a prequel to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897435) that I posted for Kuroo Week 2020, and part 2 of a series that studies Kuroo's character, and how he deals with growing up. The identity crisis before the identity crisis, you could say. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Belle](https://twitter.com/tworiceballs) for helping me to figure out what exactly I wanted to do, when I had too many ideas for this fic and not enough structure. She is a wonderful human being, and her threads are to die for. Make sure to give her a follow and check out her work!
> 
> And a huge thank you to [Noémie](https://twitter.com/_no0emiie) for beta reading this whole thing as a last minute request. She's the best and you should definitely check out her [fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no0emie).

Growing up, like most teenagers, Kuroo had longed for the day he would be able to move out and have his own place. He would be able to choose the decoration, chores would get done when he felt like it and not when he was in the middle of watching a movie, and no one would nag him to go to bed earlier than when he wanted. 

However, at the ripe age of 23 and living alone at the other side of the world away from the place in which he was born and raised, Kuroo is slowly discovering that maybe living with his family wasn’t as bad as his 13 years old self-taught. As it turns out, nice furnishing costs money, chores still need to be done regardless if you make time for them or not, and he really,  _ really _ wishes someone had annoyed him enough, so he had gone to bed earlier last night. 

It’s almost 6 P.M. in Los Angeles, and the sun is settling down, shading the sky of bright pinks and deep purples. It would have been a beautiful sight to end the day, if Kuroo wasn’t too exhausted to notice. Every step he takes is heavy, and there is this light throb on the back of his head after a while that, in all honestly, is neither worse than the day before, nor better than whatever the next day might bring. It feels like all days are more of like the same now; an unchanging shade of grey that is both too dull and too light, leading him to this washed-out feeling and always haunted by the ghost of a migraine threatening to come. 

Kuroo closes the door of his small apartment and drops his bag on the floor, shoulders sagging as he lets his body hit the door behind him. Another day is over, except not really. He slowly gathers the courage to open his eyes, and drags them around the place, hanging on to the small details that proved that he lives there and, beyond that, that he lives there alone. The pile of dishes and countless mugs in the sink, the mess of books on top of his bed, the correspondence and bills still unopened on his makeshift kitchen table. Kuroo sighs. His body is sore from practice and his head is heavy from poor sleep followed by a busy day (as most were, nowadays), and there is still so much to do. 

He drags his bag and leaves it on a chair, but doesn’t really stop moving until his knees reach his bed, and then he just flops down on it, lets the exhaustion take over his limbs and gives up on the idea of standing up, of keeping moving. He takes a deep breath, letting his face sink into the blankets. It smells like cheap, microwaved ramen, which is a strong sign that he needs to do laundry. Another task to add to his seemingly endless to-do list. 

Kuroo promises to himself that he’ll only be there for 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes and then he will move on. Stand up and do everything that he has to do, clean his apartment, organize his things, cook something to eat and get on with life. He is exhausted but time never stops and things must be done. At this very moment, however, his legs feel numb and arms too heavy to move. Afraid of falling asleep, he forces himself to pick his phone from his pocket and opens Instagram. He flinches a bit, the screen is too bright for him - everything is too bright nowadays. Regardless, he keeps on scrolling through his feed. This seems to be something that he does a lot nowadays, a repetitive action that is easy to get started and impossible to stop. Time passes faster when all he thinks about is other people, how their lives are going, how different they are from him. It’s easier to focus on anything that is not his own life, a relief really.

His thumb presses and releases the screen in small movements until it stops all together, his eyes captured by a picture that could have been on a sports magazine or used as propaganda for a resort tailored for people that have more money than they can spend. He stares at the device, and a perfectly pictured Yaku stares right back at him.

It is odd to think that they were both in similar and yet complete opposite positions, different extremes of the same spectrum. It seems like nothing much changed since High school - Kuroo and Yaku, polar opposites of the same line, two sides of the same coin.

On his phone, Yaku gives the camera a side smile that has too many teeth, daredevil eyes glistening. ‘Russia did Yaku justice’, Kuroo thinks. He looks good and Kuroo knows he receives the respect and appreciation he deserves in his team, he keeps up with the interviews and the admiration in Yaku’s colleagues’ eyes is undeniable. In the picture, he is wearing a coat that seems to be as thick as a blanket, with a furry hood, and that's probably a good thing considering that he is pretty much standing in the middle of the snow, surrounded only by pine cones and a distant but fading sunlight. 

On Kuroo’s end, on the other side of the world, Kuroo feels like he is constantly mildly covered in sweat, due to the California heat - where it is never as cold as he wishes. It never rains and the air is so low in humidity, Kuroo has found himself searching for hydrating masks and creams to use on his face and elbows for the first time in his life. The Californian weather is just another small aspect on the very long list of things he had not quite properly adapted to.

Seeing the picture stings. Seeing Yaku’s face stings, in general, although Kuroo doesn’t want to feel like that. It’s selfish, and he knows it, and it’s not like he doesn’t want the best possible for Yaku - the little guy deserves it and that’s a given. It’s just the context of the situation, he guesses. Not too long ago they had both been teenagers, full of dreams and ambition. Yaku is happy, genuinely happy, but Kuroo has nothing to show for.

There is this secret part of him that had always assumed (or maybe hoped) that they would end up close in one way or another, regardless of the direction that they would go on. Maybe on the same side of the court, or as destined rivals in eternal matches trying to upbeat the other. Maybe even somehow teaching at the same school. After all, there had been plenty of jokes at Kuroo’s expense regarding his affinity to chemistry and tendency to slip in terms and puns that no one quite understood in regular conversation, which annoyed Yaku plenty. But Kuroo was always there to gently remind anyone who would like to hear how annoying Yaku could get when it came to their English classes and how he had decided alone, with no encouragement of the teacher what so ever, to decorate and learn by heart Shakespeare sonnets. 

Back then, Kuroo had thought that the biggest flaw in that plan was to decide which one of them would coach the volleyball team (in his defence, he was the captain and therefore the most logical choice - but Yaku rather enjoyed pointing out that his awful hair and even worse laughter would most likely scare any child). Now, Kuroo sees that the assumption that they would move into the same direction when they had never agreed on any independent choice before, was the true downfall of it. It doesn’t upset him, not really. Maybe back then it did, maybe third-year Kuroo had a harder time making peace with it because, really (and he would die before saying it out loud in anything similar to what could be called a sober state), he had wanted Yaku to be near him, maybe more than he should have. He guessed that there was a part of him that dreamed with the endless possibilities of them - that they could have been something more. 

But it had all been a teenage whim, pent-up energy and too many hormones locked up together for too long in the court. Too many teasing smiles and too long stares that lingered even when the other wasn’t looking back. This unspoken side of their relationship - or whatever that Kuroo imagined it was - had been a fire that doesn’t burn, not real enough to come to live and cause actions and consequences. In the end, it was nothing more than typical crushes of the youth, a type of companionship that leads to dreaming of things that did not mean as much as he thought. They had been friends back then, and they are friends now, and that was all they would ever be. Kuroo had made his peace with that a long time ago. 

He scrolls down a bit more, tired of dwelling on could haves and pitying himself. He goes through a few ads and random posts by other casual friends, when he stops onto another picture by a different Nekoma graduate, except this time it doesn’t get him by surprise. Kai had texted their group chat on multiple occasions, from the moment he decided to propose to when he went ring shopping. He had even shared with them the same picture that was on Kuroo’s feed right now - when Haruka, Kai’s girlfriend since his freshman year of college, said yes. 

The image of the ring in the picture sets something heavy inside of him. Kai is engaged. The same Kai that Kuroo had met at 15, and seen struggling with acne, first kisses, and not quite knowing which career to follow. They had all been pretty lost at some point back then, with so very few certainties in life, the only common denominator being volleyball and the national dreams. And now, here they are: Kai is getting married sometime next autumn, and Kuroo can't even remember the last time he had a proper date, something that didn’t end as soon as the sun rose and the music stopped playing. His last real relationship had been years ago, starting on his last summer of middle school and ending by the time he was moving to his second year of Nekoma. It seemed almost insane how they have both the same age but are in such different points in their lives. 

Kuroo continues his endless scrolling, but as soon as he hits the very next picture he thinks that there seems to be someone up there purposefully mocking him. On his screen there is a candid, yet perfectly edited, picture of Mika, smiling brightly at the camera and holding keys to a house. Behind her, with the same stupid smile that Kuroo had faced so many times before, was Suguru, holding the same pair of keys. Moving in together, a long time coming really. 

If seen from an outside perspective, someone that had met them after their second year of school would ever believe Kuroo had both been Mika’s first boyfriend and the one that introduced the two of them. He liked to joke that he was just kind like that, but in truth he and Mika hadn’t been together for over a year when he introduced the two of them and, although he had his fair share of fun grilling Suguru, he couldn’t really deny that they were good for each other - made each other happy. And Kuroo is not jealous. He isn’t. He is happy for them, really. This is the better ending, the right ending. The only possible ending. 

He gets tired of dwelling on other people’s relationships and scrolls some more, eventually stopping on a very well edited video. In it, Lev stares at the camera with mussed hair, a fancy suit, and an oddly intense, but charming stare that Kuroo had never imagined the younger boy could reproduce. The caption on the bottom says: ‘Very excited to share this interview with you! Dropping tomorrow @5pm. Thank you for your support!’. Pairing the image with the short message, Kuroo is reminded that Lev, of all people, is a model now. He almost chuckles (but finds no energy to do so), because really, it is a situation he had never imagined possible. He taps on the screen to allow the sound of the video to go off. 

“I wasn’t always this confident! In fact, I used to be very insecure about myself, and I definitely didn’t think I quite had the ‘right’ looks, even though my sister is a model, and we’re a bit alike when it comes to looks,” Lev’s voice fills in the background, while different shots of him posing for the camera play on the screen “I believe it wasn’t until I was already in high school for a while that I started becoming a little more confident in me”

Kuroo blinks once and then once again, being reminded of a very specific incident at the end of his last year of high school. It had been the last time that they had played against Nohebi, the same day Yaku twisted his ankle. Nekoma classified for nationals, and Suguru had texted him a reluctant ‘thank you’ after finally getting the balls to talk and fix his relationship with Mika, all thanks to Kuroo. That had been both a happy and sad day, bittersweet all around. But he did have a fond memory of catching Lev sitting in one of the benches in the back, head fallen down with a discouraged aura emanating from him. He remembers Lev expressing his fears that maybe he doesn’t belong to Nekoma, that he can’t seem to find his place inside the team, can’t seem to find his own pace inside the court in a way that matches the rest of his colleagues. 

Kuroo remembers answering him with a point-blank explanation, a sort of pep talk, being as direct as he could without going on a tangent. Although yes, Lev was correct, that wasn’t something to be too worried about.At that moment, Lev may not fit in completely with the team yet, but that was not the most important part. What was more important was if Lev could feel himself fitting in - if he trusted his teammates enough to keep fighting for a place inside Nekoma. To keep training and getting closer to his teammates, until they all fell into the same rhythm. Until they were all connected, part of the same bloodstream, moving seamless inside the court, putting their very best into it. 

This was the essential part for Kuroo - for Lev to know that the bond and the confidence that grows and creates relationships is not born easily or quickly. You had to work for it, to create and establish these bonds. In the end, he was right (and truth be told, when it came to Nekoma and his teammates, Kuroo had rarely been wrong), and by the time he graduated, Lev and Shibayama had become one of their most incredible duos inside the court. When he watched the last game Kenma ever played, there was no possible way to deny that Lev was part of the team. He had found his place.

Kuroo wondered if Lev remembered that. Probably not. 

Kuroo finds himself questioning what happened to the boy he was back then. The reliable captain, filled with advice, confidence and strength for his team. Some might have even called him and his speeches inspiring at some point. Where was that boy? What happened to him? At which point in time had Kuroo lost his ability with words, his skills with people, his capacity to believe in himself? Where was his talent inside the court? It seemed no matter how hard he trained, his legs had become heavier and the ball quicker. He was slower, or too out of time most of the plays. He was always either moving too fast, or not fast enough. He couldn’t stop screwing it up. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, Nekoma Captain, master of teasing, king of speeches who made himself known inside the court. What happened to him? 

He doesn’t know. He is too tired to think about it. So he just keeps scrolling.

The next familiar face on his feed is Kenma. Well, not Kenma himself, but a fan art of him. Kuroo followed ‘#Kodzuken’ on Instagram the moment he learned it was a thing, so occasionally posts from his fans would show up on his time line. It’s fun, he enjoys it, and quite a few of them are actually very talented. He had considered sending a few of the most interesting and well done ones to Kenma in the past, but if Kenma had known that Kuroo followed his hashtag he would have called him embarrassing and probably blocked him. 

Kuroo stares at his best friend's face, drawn out with soft lines, a colour pallet filled with warm tone of yellow, orange and reds. It looks pretty good, even though the artist hasn’t quite captured the intense look of concentration in his golden eyes right, or the essence of the tiny smirk that Kenma gives when he wins a game. Kuroo can’t blame them tho, some things are just too magical to be put on paper, you could only see them in real life.

The most magical thing of all, however, had been to watch Kenma grow. Kuroo is so ridiculously proud of who Kenma is now; the world-famous Kodzuken. A great part of it comes exactly because he knows Kenma’s history, knows the extremely shy kid he was, who refused to have short hair in order to close his field of vision and was terribly awful when it came to speaking his feelings out loud and making eye contact. Kuroo was one of the few people who had the privilege of watching Kenma grow, how he turned into Nekoma’s brain and then vice-captain, how he graduated with honours and got into the best University of Tokyo, how he started a career out of nowhere. Hell, Kuroo was in his living room the moment Kenma ended his first ever stream, with a slice of apple pie that served both as recovery aid and reward, just to see and support him (which he had done plenty in the chat during the stream, but still, he just had to be there. Kuroo was always there, when it came to Kenma). From that point on, it was history being made. 

Kenma rises to popularity in the streaming community with the grandiosity that Kuroo always predicted he would have in anything that he applied himself into. Kenma is genius, smart, funny and good, so ridiculously good in everything he does. Every praise and positive feedback he had ever received in his videos never fell short from what Kuroo himself had been telling Kenma for years now. Kenma is happy, proud of himself, and so Kuroo is happy as well. 

However, with success came the extreme levels of popularity that in all honesty, neither of them had really thought through. Kenma became busier and busier, and started separating his personal time from his online time more and more, in order to have something similar to rest. With streaming, and having tons of followers in all social media platforms, it became harder for him to simply not interact with people. Even if it was only through a screen, the concept of having tons of other humans asking him questions and demanding interaction was almost as exhausting as if it were in real life. So his downtime was spent mostly playing, of course, but far away from any camera, and he barely touched his phone when he wasn’t on ‘work mode’. 

It wasn’t so bad when Kuroo still lived only a few minutes away from Kenma. He would simply take a short walk and break into the room whenever he deemed convenient or necessary, like when Kenma had his phone turned off for too long or when Kuroo knew that he hadn’t eaten anything mildly healthy all day or drunken enough water. He would simply pop in, and it was all fine. With the move to the US, however, things became a little bit harder. Much harder in fact. The ridiculous time difference, and the ever-growing piles of responsibilities made them busier than ever, and even though they had promised each other to not lose touch, to keep talking and video chatting as much as possible, keeping up with the friendship in the same way or constancy as they used to was proving to be an almost impossible mission. 

Kuroo remembers when ‘see you tomorrow’ turned into ‘see you next week’ and then ‘see you soon’.

And then the ‘soon’ never came.

They barely ever text, and Kuroo doesn’t really remember the last time they video called each other. And life moved on. Life is always moving on, whether we want it or not.

Kenma goes to Brazil to visit Hinata, and Kuroo is not bitter, he swears he isn’t. It doesn’t mean anything, just because Kenma never came to Los Angeles. Kuroo never even invited him, so really, it was kind of his fault, right? He doesn't have the right to be bitter, and he knows it. So of course he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have the right to. But he can’t help but text a little more coldly and sparely the next few times they talk, trying to shrug off a grudge that won’t let go. It’s a mess, selfish and just straight up childish, but he can’t help it. He feels their years of friendship slowly dismantling in front of him and it is terrifying. 

Kenma is ahead, filled with support, admiration and success, and Kuroo is left behind, hungry for a similar taste of satisfaction. 

When Kuroo was 16, he met Oikawa Tooru in a play off against Aoba Johsai. He doesn’t remember in which round of the competition they had played, or the final score. He is almost sure Nekoma won, but he is not too certain of that either. What he does remember tho, the thing that had marked him the most intensely, was the look on Oikawa’s face. He had this hunger in his eyes, the need for something more, for recognition or glory. It was a thirst you couldn’t clench no matter what you drank, you could only want more, run further, try harder, spread out longer. Oikawa wanted to win - not only that match, but everything. It wasn’t a game any more, it was a path to conquer, except it would never end. 

Back then, Kuroo hadn’t quite understood him and his view in life, where it had come from, but now he finds himself changing his mind. There is a scratch on the back of his throat, that he might vaguely recognize, being so similar to what he saw burning inside Oikawa’s eyes on the court for the first time, years ago. 

He is not sure where Oikawa is now, or what he is doing. He wonders if Oikawa was ever able to satiate himself, to overgrow the blown ego and fragile insecurities of his teenager self. Kuroo supposes that both him and Oikawa were more alike than he had initially thought. In the end, humans are nothing but struggling messes, stumbling their way through life in hope for something. 

Something.

Now, more lost than ever, Kuroo wonders what this something is for him. He has the daunting feeling that this life, and volleyball, might not be it for him any more. Back then all he had cared about was making sure his team felt like a family, and that they were able to reach nationals and make Nekomata’s dream become true once again, the infamous trash battle, cats versus crows. It had been as much up to him and his team as it was up to Karasuno to get there. It had never been about winning, but about the game itself. 

Or at least that’s what he thought back then, but the extreme exhaustion and the dread that sets on his stomach whenever he thinks of practice or having official matches nowadays tells him differently. It’s an anxiety he had never quite had before, not when it came to volleyball. It isn’t a simple fear of losing, or the nervousness of playing against a team that is more qualified than yours. It’s the feeling that he will lose because he is a bad player. That if his team does lose, it will be because of him and his lack of ability, and if they do win, it will be despite Kuroo. It’s the almost bone-deep sentiment that has perpetuated so many other areas of his life, but never this one. Never inside the court. It’s the belief that Kuroo is not good enough, and no matter how hard he tries, he will never be. 

He watches all his friends moving towards their dreams, disappearing into the light. Their futures blind Kuroo. He keeps finding himself stretching his hands towards it, running after something, anything that gives the same bright, lets him reach this light, but it keeps slipping out between his fingers. It’s there, he can feel it so close that his skin prickles with the proximity - but it always gets away before he can catch up. 

And lately, Kuroo is just tired of running. 

He is burned out and tired and nowhere near where he wanted to be.

Moving away, Kuroo had been excited about it. Los Angeles was a beautiful city, with burning lights and bright people made of sun and gold, but it was exhausting to his eyes. 

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment to hit him. For him to feel the words ‘I made it’. But it never does. Most of the time, Kuroo is so tired he doesn’t think at all. 

The first six months in California leave him starving for familiarity. He ends up finding a crumb of it, in a lonely and too hot night, in Santa Monica, not even 30 minutes away from his own place. Kuroo just wants to unwind, to get out of his own head and not deal with his thoughts for a couple of hours. To see if maybe by drinking a bit too much he’ll be able to stop thinking too much. If maybe, just maybe, if someone touched him right, made him feel good, if he made someone else feel good... Then maybe he would feel better, less empty, less useless. He has no expectations really, just mild hopes for a good time. However, what he is most definitely not expecting, is to meet Iwazumi at a gay club. They had both been clearly shocked to be spotted by the other, and nervously avoid each other’s eyes all night until enough shots have been poured down their throats. 

They kiss messily in the bathroom, too much anger and loneliness to make it pretty. It’s teeth clashing, and nails tugging too hard on his hair, pressed against the dirty wall of the stall. Everything smells bad, and the faded music playing in the background is awful, but Kuroo can’t complain. It’s far from what he really wants, what he needs, but it’s what he can get for now, and he will be damned if he doesn’t take every single bit of it that he can. It’s the desperation to touch someone else, the necessity to feel wanted. He knows it’s far from ideal, but for the first time in months that Kuroo feels the intentional touch of another warm skin, hears heaving breath and raspy voices - and knows he is the cause behind it. And during those stolen hours, Kuroo feels good.

It doesn't last (it never does, not when Kuroo is one of the people involved) and when they break away, there is not even an attempt to promise to see each other again. Iwazumi's heart had been marked a long time ago, and Kuroo is destined to be lonely. 

Life moves on, not much different from what it was before. 

He keeps finding himself in the court for longer, practising extra hours, still feeling like he hasn’t truly earned the place in the team. He does his best to erase the creases in his pronunciation that denounce his lack of nativity in the language. He eats food that doesn’t taste like home, because the rest of the team agrees that it is the best. 

Every night, he comes back to his apartment and relives the same stressful routine - too much to do, too little time, no energy at all. 

There is a picture above his studying desk that haunts him. His childhood self stares back at him (with Kenma by his side, as always), with big bright eyes, filled with dreams and hopes for the future. Sometimes Kuroo catches himself staring at it for too long instead of doing whatever he is supposed to be doing. He asks himself if that kid would be proud of him now, and there’s the bitter taste on the back of his mouth shaped like a negative answer. 

When did it all change? When did he start feeling like this, so tired he barely even felt alive? 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had hugged someone or called back home. God, Kuroo couldn’t even remember the last time he truly laughed. Everything seemed more serious and heavier nowadays.

Back in Tokyo, Kuroo had longed for change, for a head start, for a sign that he was moving forward. His last year of university rolled around and although he got elected as team captain, he can’t shake off the feeling that it was only because there was no one else with as much experience as him. It’s not that he was the best, it’s not even that he was good! He was just not the worst, and that wasit. While all his friends rise to the top, he finds himself sinking more and more into the terrifying knowledge that this might be all he will ever become: average. 

He had hoped that by moving to a different country, getting into a team made by people with completely different background and experiences as him, he would stand out in one way or another, that he would bring something new to the table. But that doesn’t happen. This wasn’t how things worked back in Japan, so why would it be like that in LA? He had crossed the world chasing the hope of a feeling, and now found himself empty-handed of satisfaction. Ever since he moved, there was this warning light inside his chest that never went off. He hadn’t known what ‘peace of mind’ meant for four months now, ending every day with restless, heavy sleep empty of dreams. 

Back then, before the moving, in the middle of college, all that he wanted was for everything to change. Now, he couldn’t stop missing the way things were, a childish part of him wishing that they had stayed the same as they were, when he was a toothy child filled with hope and a bright future ahead of him.

But time is a relentless thing, a god that needs no praising or belief, and therefore doesn't care about anyone or anything. 

Maybe this had been his downfall - to think that he could use time in his favour. That if he changed the location, then he would catch up, would find himself. 

Maybe we’re all humans in the end, made of blood and bone, trying to forgive ourselves for the things we did not become. 

But forgiveness is a hard - maybe the hardest - lesson to learn. A struggle that Kuroo has, a tendency to carry grudges even if he doesn’t want to do so. The worst of all is the intrinsic foreignness in the concept of forgiving himself. Kuroo can’t forgive himself for not being good enough for this life, this career he has dreamed for so long, this independence he has aimed for since youth. He can’t bring himself to abandon the heavy weight on his shoulders, set by the bitter realization that the life you dreamed is not quite so what you believed it would be. That you are not quite who you thought you would be. That this is harder than you can manage, heavier than you can carry. It’s a slow, tiresome and anxiety-inducing process, heavy like liquid ichor, that turns into the fog of a nightmare what was once the fuzziness of a dream.

Whimsical dreams, empty plans, silly desires… Kuroo is filled with them. And more than that, he had always prided himself in being a person that puts them into action. His goals and aspirations didn’t live only in his head, he had, carefully and dedicatedly , put in the work to make most of them become reality. He learned how to be more charismatic, how to make people trust him, how to make his team comfortable. He created this strong personality and image of a good leader, of someone reliable that could be counted on both inside and outside the court. People trusted him, believed in him. And now it all felt like a lie. 

Kuroo had always thought of himself as someone practical, but clearly he had been wrong. Those are Kenma, and Yaku, and Mika. They will barrel through life and shape it into whatever it was that they wanted it to be. Kuroo is discovering himself, more and more nowadays, too weak for it. Big dreams, small steps. He is falling behind, and he can’t seem to stop it, can’t remember when everything started to be so much harder and feel so differently. 

He should be doing more. Working harder. He had moved across the world, looking for a fresh start, a chance to catch up, and now he barely does his laundry. There were so many dreams he wanted to achieve, and so many things to get done, it seems like days never have enough hours. But the worst of all, his body and mind never have enough energy or motivation to even do the smallest tasks. All he manages to do is lay down and either stare at the walls of his semi-bare apartment and occasionally scroll down on his phone, watching his wonderful friends, until he can’t bear to look at them any more. Until all Kuroo feels is numb.

His phone buzzes, and he knows it's a message from someone, and that he should probably answer. He should get up. He should answer his emails. He should call his family. He should take a shower. He should do the dishes. He should eat something. He should be better. He should get up.

Kuroo turns around, facing the wall, and goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading it! This fic, this whole series in particular, is one of my favourite works and I hold it very near and dear to my heart. Growing up is hard, and sometimes extremely disappointing and frustrating - especially when we fall into the tendency of comparing ourselves or thinking that we simply would be or should be more. If you've ever struggled with depression and impostor syndrome, I'm with you, and I promise: you are enough. You deserve good things. Everything will be alright, even if it doesn't seem like it. 
> 
> Feedback is always more than welcome, and if you'd like to scream at me you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ffskuroo)!!


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